


A Holiday Hunk

by el_vip



Category: Trolls (Movies 2016 2020)
Genre: F/F, Holiday time, barb is jewish anyway lol, i'm trying to stay pretty ambiguous with holidays, so it doesn't come off as super christmassy, this is for nick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:42:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28327014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el_vip/pseuds/el_vip
Summary: A big-time city artist (Barb) heads out into a little village to record a holiday album to boost sales, along with the help of a local holiday star (Poppy) and learns some things about celebrating love and life and spending time with people you care about and holiday magic and various other things.Inspired by art by @spaloonbabooguuscooties on tumblr!
Relationships: Queen Barb/Queen Poppy (Trolls)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> nick wanted this and who am I to deny the whims of others

"You've gotta be kidding me."

"I am in no way, shape or form, kidding you, Barb." 

"I'm not travelling however the fuck many miles to some rinky-dink little  _ village _ to use a recording studio that's probably busted out of its brains to write a festive album." Barb is pretty sure it's fair for her to be firm about this, and she's very much planning on sticking to her guns, having already sat up in her chair and planted her feet solidly on the ground. 

"Barb, listen. It'll still be a rock album and you don't have to compromise your integrity," the producer in front of her is placating her with that, she knows, but it already works a little. Barb was kind of envisioning some sugary yet bland poppy covers of seasonal songs, and knowing she'll have more control over it eases her a little. 

Still. Reputation and that. 

"There is no way you're squeezing this album out of me. I don't  _ like _ the holidays. How do you plan on getting me to write anything about them?" 

“The village you’ll be visiting and spending your time in is renowned for being a hotspot of holiday cheer. You’ll learn through osmosis. There will be other people working in the studio with you, and you’ll be taking direction from them.  _ Not _ ,” she pauses to jab a finger in Barb’s direction, pre-emptive for the inevitable argument - Barb can’t really deny it, since she already had her mouth open. 

“Instruction. They’ll be  _ helping _ .”

Even that is tempting for her to make some ideally scathing remark about, but if it gets this done faster, Barb manages to hold her tongue. Of course, that doesn’t mean her expression is anything but entirely sour, and she doesn’t actually say anything at all, but her producer takes that as a good sign and ploughs on through. 

“We’re covering everything, obviously. We’ll be on a tight schedule, so you’ll need to work your ass off, but it’ll be fine. There are already one or two songs written, and we have a couple of features for the album set up too.” 

Barb’s eyebrows knit together. She’s very picky about any outsiders having a place on any of her music, and they should know that. Whoever they’ve let in better be good. 

There’s silence in the room for a while, and Barb is all too happy to let it stretch out tersely, as she watches the producer with a carefully cold gaze. She has a talent for making people uncomfortable with just the right expression, and this is no exception. Eventually, she grunts, after she’s satisfied with the appropriate amount of squirming from the other party, and she nods slowly, settling back in her chair again. One leg kicks up to cross over the other. 

“Alright. But this is a one-off. I’m never doing this again, got it?” 

The executive leans back in their chair, after setting their pen down on the table alongside their papers. They nod once, as if to draw a line under the whole ordeal, and after a long pause, talk again. 

“Alright. If that’s settled, you can go now.”

\----

Barb grumbles under her breath as she hauls her suitcase down the street, dragging uneven grooves through the snow with its wheels, pulling too hard every time it sticks. She’s pretty sure this has to be some kind of seasonally cursed town, because this is just about the most snow she’s ever seen. Even her platform boots she’s gone for to fight the cold with are giving her trouble wading through it. 

She’s seen a few people, bustling about in their warm coats and scarves and most of them have smiled at her, until the perpetual stream of curses that she’s muttering have been understood, and people have hurried along on their way instead. Still hasn’t stopped more than one person asking her if she needs a hand though. 

After refusing every time and deciding to put herself through this out of choice instead, she’s found that she’s only really managed to infuriate herself a lot more than she was. Even coming here in the first place wasn’t as bad. And Barb  _ hates _ air travel. 

Almost there, is her main thought, and it’s really the only thing keeping her going. She runs hot by herself, but she hates being in the cold. It’s worse seeing people bustling about what seems to be an absolutely tiny town - she’s seen every single person refer to every other person they’ve seen by name, aside from her - seemingly without a care in the world about how horrendously freezing it is. 

The only thing she’s taken any help on is directions. With her being desperate to get inside, she’d be willing to pay someone to point her in the direction of her hotel, but the people in this place seem to be so goddamn friendly they’d piggyback her there if she asked genuinely. 

She won’t. Even if it is tempting to. 

Thankfully it doesn’t take her all day to get there, but naturally, as if imbued by the horrendously good-natured spirit of the town itself, the twins sat at the front desk are ever-so-chipper as they check her in, introducing themselves even though Barb’s convinced she’ll never actually talk to them after this until it comes to checking back out again. 

They catch her enough off guard for her to be polite, at least, with a half-smile and a slight wave as she hauls her suitcase into the lift. When the doors shut, her expression drops again and she’s back to sulking. She really does not want to be doing this. She mostly just wants to be home, doing literally nothing except leaving her band and touring group’s late-night festivities early to go check up on her dad. 

He’s in Riff’s care right now, and while she trusts him with it, she’s also antsy to get back home. Just gotta get this over and done with and then they’ll be fine. It’s just one album, Barb. 

\----

They’re on an impossibly tight schedule that they’d only ever really trust to her, so after she’s had just about five minutes to dump her suitcase in her room, she got a call to head down to their miniature studio. There was another half an hour or so of her fumbling around the town trying to find the place, but it’s not a particularly big place, so it doesn’t take as long as she’d like. She’s pretty torn between wanting to dawdle so she doesn’t have to do any of this, and getting it all over and done with as soon as possible. The latter is steadily looking better and better for her. 

She swings the door open and ignores the glances paired with smiles that get sent her way as she stomps the snow off her boots on the doormat. Without so much as a greeting, she’s already heading past the reception on the way to the offices behind it, and nobody makes any move to stop her. She’ll comment later, but right now she’s kind of grateful for it. Of course, she’s also pretty sure she’s way too distinctive for them to not immediately recognise, so the points are back in their court. Whatever. 

When she pushes open the door to the back office - and what she assumes is the recording booth attached to it - she’s greeted with an overwhelming blur of pink and an overt friendliness that envelops her quickly. Literally. Someone is filling her vision with hot pink and they’re only managing to do so because they’re actually hugging her. 

There is an absolute stranger hugging her. 

It takes her a few moments to even register that the person with their arms around her is talking because even at the bright, excitable volume they’re providing, the shock of the contact is more overpowering than anything. It takes even longer for Barb to remember herself, and then scoff, angrily, as she pushes them off and away from her. 

“- and I think it’ll be a super good album, I want you to have complete control obviously but I’ve already written a couple of - oh, too hard? I get told that a lot. I should probably give shorter hugs, but y’know. Lot of love to share!” The troll she’s now holding at arms’ length offers a laugh, that, were it coming from anyone else facing Barb, she thinks would be nervous. 

But whoever this bright pink - and blue, to include the holiday colours, it looks like - monstrosity is actually means it. And for a second, Barb is caught off guard for the second time in this town. 

“I’m Poppy,” she introduces herself before she squirms out of Barb’s grasp and heads to the other side of the room to pluck a thick notebook up of the desk, complete with rainbow kitten stickers all over the front of it and an obscene variety of sticky tabs jutting from the ends of the pages. 

Barb doesn’t respond for a good while. Her first thought, much to her own irritation, is that the incredibly excitable, already-back-to-chattering individual in front of her is kind of cute. She’s also too engrossed in her own holiday album blabber to be aware of the blood briefly rushing to Barb’s face. What follows is her mentally telling herself off, then trying to reason that this holiday enthusiasm is kind of annoying considering how little she celebrates what she does even celebrate, before she settles on a final thought that sums up her whole day’s experience thus far. 

This is going to be a long holiday season. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello it is so past holiday season now but i DON'T care you're all getting this whether you want it or not

Despite not knowing what to expect, Poppy's been excited for Barb to arrive since she first got in contact with her label a few weeks ago. Or they got in contact with her. Or in contact with her little recording studio and she decided to take matters into her own hands. 

She'd sort of heard of Barb before this point. Of course, she is kind of a global megastar, so that makes sense, but Poppy hasn't actually ever really heard much of Barb's music. It's probably good though. 

She's cute too, even if she's always looking like she's got a furrowed brow - no matter if it's a press tour or a candid shot. 

Poppy watched her step into their back office at the recording studio with a very similar expression on her face - pinched together eyebrows, narrowed eyes, downturned mouth with just a hint of sharp tooth shown off - and got overwhelmed with the need to make her feel a little better. She’s always been a very naturally friendly person and that’s overspilled into a lot of physical contact, hugs included, for the duration of… Well, her whole life. So what came instantly to her was bundling the new arrival up into a hug. 

It maybe wasn’t the best plan in the world, all things considered about the reception, but she didn’t get snapped at or shoved off, so she’s taking it as a win. 

Maybe she feels a  _ little _ bad for getting overzealous and practically bouncing all over Barb, not to mention the whole talking her ear off thing. The gal’s only just gotten into town, after all, so she’s probably a little overwhelmed. That explains why she didn’t really say a whole lot to Poppy while she was giving her all of her ideas, too. Oh well. She’s sure she’ll come around. 

Or at least, she was sure she’d come around. 

They’d only spent an hour and a half with each other in that studio and most of the brainstorming had been Poppy’s. She’s pretty sure that Barb scoffed her way through the majority of her suggestions. And she for sure didn’t actually okay any of them. Thinking about it now, Poppy doesn’t actually think she can remember Barb saying anything positive at all for the whole session. 

She leans back in the plush armchair that she insisted on bringing into the studio for her to work from. Her pen taps slowly against her notebook, keeping time with the rhythm of the holiday song she has stuck in her head. Maybe… No, Barb wouldn’t come all the way down here to their little village to record a seasonal album if she didn’t actually like the festive season, would she? 

It's probably just the cold. 

Oooh, you know what it could be? Maybe she just feels out of place in their little home and she needs a big welcome! Things are probably different in a big bustling city and she's probably more used to hanging around in big-name clubs and having lunch with big stars and producers. Not being in a place where they only have two restaurants in a wide radius. 

Maybe she needs to learn to love just those two restaurants. Well, one restaurant and a diner, but Poppy loves the latter so much she'd grant it Michelin star status. 

Yeah. That sounds like a great plan. A grin spreads itself over Poppy’s face with all the ease of melted butter, and she leans forwards a little again, reaching for a blank notebook and shoving the other to one side. Time to plan the mother of all welcomes, plus a few other things. 

\---

After she finally managed to get away from the jabbermouth in the recording studio that she was too busy watching talk instead of actually  _ listening _ to her talk, Barb’s jet lag finally caught up with her. So sue her, she really does hate flying. It was maybe two hours for her to get out here and honestly, she’d have much rather come by bus, but the label wants everything done fast and there are only so many things they’ll let her argue about. 

So after getting back to her hotel - if she were just a smudge meaner she'd call it an inn - and vaguely responding to the chirpy twin receptionists' greeting with a grunt, she promptly collapsed on her bed and passed out. 

She only wakes up three or so hours later, because there's someone hammering on her door, with an urgency that suggests either a total emergency, or they're planning on knocking it down so they can kill her in her sleep. Unlucky for them, she's not actually asleep anymore, so she gets up, just barely more bedraggled than usual and flings the door open so wide it rattles on its hinges. 

Her face is twisted in a perfect snarl, eyes narrowed, lip curled upwards and mouth open to snap something most likely violent and extremely threatening, until she stops dead. It’s someone she definitely doesn’t recognise, but he has a kid with him, and the choice words that were on her tongue probably aren’t appropriate even in a situation like this. 

“Hiiiii, Barb, right?” He’s talking before she can manage to gather herself back up again, and her gaze snaps to the grown troll between the two of them, still narrowed and dangerous. Gratifyingly, he seems to catch full wind of it and gets a little antsy on his feet. 

“Yeah. What do you want? Aside from breaking my door off its - hinges.” Her words don’t come out as neatly as she wants, because she’s too busy trying to not swear in front of the kid. 

“I want you to come with me!” He still sounds chipper when he answers, so her stare isn’t working quite so well, but he’s off without an answer and another word. Barb watches after him for a few seconds, before she leans back into her room and closes her door. 

Rather, she tries to close her door but a small foot wedges itself in the way and she has to open it again, to come face to face with the most oversized sunglasses on the most undersized troll she’s ever seen. She squints at him, but he doesn’t seem inclined to move. 

“We’re waiting to welcome you in the lobby.” 

Her mouth scrunches up, irritated. “I don’t want to be welcomed.”

“It ain’t optional.” 

Barb opens her mouth. And then she pauses. Okay. She’s pretty sure it’s actually not worth getting into an argument with what looks and sounds like one of the most stubborn kids she’s ever met. Beside herself, but obviously she never actually met herself as a child. That’d be super weird. Whatever, not the point. 

She makes sure, of course, to roll her eyes hard enough to sprain them, if the muscles of her sockets weren’t so used to that kind of thing from her at this point. Her mouth is still turned downward, but she jerks her head after the glittery troll who already seems to have disappeared down the hallway at this point. 

“Alright pipsqueak. Lead the way.” 

\---

The lobby is dark when they get there and Barb already has an exceptionally bad feeling about this. She’s tired. She wants to go back to her room and pass out and then maybe eat a lot of food and get to work. She kind of felt like a huge ass sitting in front of - Poppy, that’s her name - without any clue what was going on and no real ideas to put forward. Probably should come up with something incredible before they’re meeting up again tomorrow, just to make sure she comes across as cool enough. Not that she needs to impress her or anything. 

Whatever. She zoned out and now suddenly the kid has skittered off somewhere too. Her eyes are used to the dark, but there isn’t anybody actually in her eye line. Even when she glances over at the reception desk, the twins are gone. 

“What the fuck?” 

Just about as soon as the words are out of her mouth in a half-growl, there’s a loud bang and she jerks to one side at the same time the lights come on all at once, and all she sees is a blur of shredded paper colours before bright spots start blurring together in her vision. 

There’s a chorus of too many voices for her to pick out, all cheering some sort of greeting or welcome, or just general well wishes, and she’s much too dazed by whatever sequence of events that just happened, that her brain can barely piece together to actually snap at whoever’s doing this. That’s useful for Poppy, who bounces up out of the little throng of her welcome party to fling her arms around Barb again. She squeezes, just briefly, before she steps back, grin as wide as anything. 

The warm presence does it. That is, it gives Barb enough time to collect herself and settle, though her expression is immediately sour. 

"What the hell?" She says, at the exact same time Poppy starts talking.

“Barb! I’m so glad you turned up, we were waiting for _ ever  _ for you, I thought you weren’t even gonna come down!” She keeps going, of course, steamrollering right over any explanation Barb might have wanted. By the sounds of it, Barb doesn’t think she actually heard what she said anyway. “So, you’re probably super concerned about what you want to be doing because, you know, where to start, am I right? But look no further! I’m here to save you. See,” Poppy continues babbling, even as she opens up a bedazzled notebook and shoves the hastily scribbled in pages too close to Barb’s face for her to try and read, even if she wanted to. 

She opens her mouth, to ask what in the hell that is, but Poppy's talking again before she can even manage a sound. "It's our itinerary! Look, I planned everything out down to the minute - snack and hug breaks included, obviously, and - "

"I'm good." The words that barely squeeze their way past Barb's gritted teeth actually manage to knock the wind out of Poppy's sails. She blinks, confused. 

"Huh?"

"I said I'm good." Barb's brow furrows and her ears flatten a little, like an animal whose space is being encroached on a little too much. There's a faint murmur going up in the handful of pop trolls that are crowding her. "I don't wanna do any of that. I don't care. I don't care about this village, or," her gaze strays to the festive colours and the handful of seasonal activities in the still-open notebook that Poppy seems to have forgotten she's holding up. 

"The holidays. I definitely don't care about following some dumb schedule full of the kinda sh -  _ stuff _ that makes me wanna tear my hair out. I don't care about any of it. I'm here to do my job and then I'm leaving. No offense." 

The wind is way out of Poppy's sails at this point and the trolls she brought along with her in order to have a brief but extremely fun celebration of all things festive are looking somewhere ranging between shocked and totally despondent. She opens her mouth. And then she closes it again. She has half a mind to say something about how saying no offense doesn't make something not offensive, when Barb turns and starts making her way back to the stairs. 

"Hey -  _ wait _ ," is all Poppy can manage to get out, but Barb just waves at her over her shoulder before she disappears from sight. Poppy rocks back on her heels, and furrows her brow. 

Okay, so maybe this is going to be harder than she first thought. That doesn’t mean she’s giving up, not by any stretch. Already, as the others around her start to disperse slowly with the occasional disparaged comment, Poppy’s brain is working into overdrive. 

She’s going to make Barb love the holidays, whether she likes it or not. 


End file.
